there is no poetry
in what might have been
the affliction you suffer
is the retribution
of your outraged nature
your rebellion
is plotting to burn
it’s well polished shelf
please know
there is no pill to remedy
a life slipping by unlived
no syringe of dreams
potent enough
to run warming peace up your veins
you are the merciful god
who will end the torture
within the pit
sublime discontent
transmuted into chapters of ink
will be your salvation
and the will to build a door